Everything I'm Not
by SuperKateB
Summary: They're an odd couple, different as night and day and black and white, and yet... And yet, at the same time, they're not. (Warning: MM slash.)


"**Everything I'm Not"  
****A Law & Order: SVU Fanfiction  
****Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler**

He is, without question, everything I'm not.

We're the quintessential example of the odd couple, an awkward pairing, and everyone who knows the two of us sees it in some way or another. How we can work together, speak civilly to one another, and even occasionally catch drinks at a local bar after work is beyond most of my squad, and honestly, I'm okay with that. I'm okay with not answering questions or, worse, curious "looks" from my fellow detectives. Curiosity is natural when you ask questions for a living, and eventually, you just stop fighting it. But that doesn't mean you also have to egg that curiosity on, especially when the topic is sensitive.

Nothing about the two of us matches in any way, shape, or form. He's short and built lightly, more like a bookworm than an agent. He's tried for years, or so he claims, to bulk up, but his bone structure simply is not built for bulging muscles and strong sinews.

I, however, am a chiseled giant. Serving in the Marines can do that to a person, and, while I don't particularly mind looking something like the Hulk, it can be uncomfortable. Finding sports jackets is hard, finding dress shirts is harder, and more than one nervous suspect or witness has asked to have another detective conduct the interview.

Occasionally, when I'm feeling particularly large and awkward and he is feeling particularly psychological, he'll point out with a helpful smile that being muscular implies strong masculinity, and with that implication comes the Cro-Magnon stigma of clubbing a woman over the head and dragging her back to his cave.

And on those days, from my spot on the couch, I point out that he's just jealous that I can build more muscle in three hours than he could in three lifetimes.

Yes, we're an unlikely duet, out of key and in an awkward time signature. At work, we bury ourselves in what needs to be done, stealing an occasional glance across the squad room during a briefing or brainstorming session. We're not afraid to butt heads over topics, cases, and theories; his profiling can be off, and my berserker tendencies can rage too strongly. I search for the usual suspects while he searches for the likely suspects. It's hard not to think with the mind of a cop, especially after so many years. He's at the advantage of never having thought that way, and occasionally, he forgets my career entirely.

Our thought processes are never locked in simpatico. He, unsurprisingly, looks at everything from a scientific point of view. He spends hours staring at the wall or ceiling, bouncing around ideas for _why_ someone snapped the way they did, _why_ a man with no previous history raped a young girl, _why_ the profile he'd created that afternoon just didn't fit with this particular criminal. He pours over books and journals, reading, examining, thinking, learning. There are nights when I don't remember him coming to bed because he was still up, reading, when I fell asleep.

The only reading I do is work-related if you ignore the times I leave the sports page in the bathroom. I don't worry about why, I worry about when and how and, always most importantly, who. If I spent my nights with my ass in an armchair and my feet on the coffee table trying to figure out why some man raped and killed a little girl, I would drive myself completely insane. If I can't get the answers I crave from a witness or suspect, I pace and yell and slam chairs around. Generally, he's the one who brings me down from my ledges and forces me to be rational.

Once, he bought me a variety of books – psychology, humor, mystery, sports, biography, history, and even a dime-store romance paperback – and tossed them on the bed just before I climbed in. I glanced suspiciously at them before thanking him with a smile and stacking them neatly on the nightstand.

He was less-than-amused to find them in a "Free – Please Take" box in my squad room the next day.

He's absolutely everything that I am not. He's polite and I am brash. He's soft-spoken and I am loud. He's orderly, and I am a slob. He prefers the right side of the bed, and I prefer the left. He drinks light beer from a can, and I drink regular beer from a bottle. He enjoys the History Channel, and I am not happy unless ESPN is on. He reads the comics in the paper first thing in the morning, and dammit if I am not an obituary man.

But his fingers are soft when he brushes them against my stubble, and his voice is low when he whispers my name in the dark. Our bodies curve together at just the right angles, despite our height difference, and we fit just perfectly in a full size bed.

My sloppiness is forgiven by my talent for cooking. His politeness fades when I kiss him in just the right way. And, sometimes, when he says, "Good morning, Elliott," in that low tone as the sun filters in through the gauzy drapes, I can forgive him for his love of light beer.

And he claims that, when I scratch his back after a long day at work and simply ask, "Are you okay, George?" that he can overlook my fixation on the obituaries.

There's something to be said for finding someone who is, at base, everything I'm not.

**Fin.**

Standard Disclaimer: Law and Order and all related characters belong to NBC and Dick Wolf. I am simply borrowing them with no intent to, you know, make money. Friends, perhaps, but not money.

Author's Notes: Stabler/Huang slash. Yes, yes, I know. I know I shouldn't have written it. But honestly, how can you NOT? I could see them in bed together, no problem.

I blame tonight's rerun for this. Grr on you, NBC, for showing me slashy reruns. And grr on you, Elliott, for answering a call from George with, "Hey baby," and ending it with "Love you." I don't care that you were trying to pretend it was your wife, it's too slashy for my own good! Especially when you didn't say the same to Olivia! This fic is on your hands!

February 28, 2005  
12:05 a.m.


End file.
